


February, 18th. 1998, Holyoke, Colorado. 23:56:17

by ArchTroop



Series: EasyRush [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Weecest, easyrush, slightly unhealthy eating habbits, some frivolous banter, weecest if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 10:31:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7044766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchTroop/pseuds/ArchTroop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wins this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	February, 18th. 1998, Holyoke, Colorado. 23:56:17

“Eat.”

A mildly withered sandwich on a nicked plate landed on top of Sam’s Biology Textbook for 9th graders. He brushed the thing away. “I am”.  
“No you are not,” protested Dean from behind him, annoyed, and placed his both hands on the backrest of Sam’s chair. “What do you think I am, blind?”  
Sam picked up his pen and poked backwards into Dean’s chest, “Leave me alone.”  
“Common dude, you, you haven’t touched anything besides this - what is this - _apple juice_ \- for 24 hours now.” Dean argued, his chin brushing against Sam’s scalp. “How the hell you want your brain to function?” He added in a worried, questioning tone.  
“It functions just fine!” Hissed Sam, trying to formulate a thought, his pen hovering over the paper, with no actual results.  
Dean pushed, tilting Sam’s chair - separating him from his study and leaving his legs hanging, resembling a rag-doll of sorts.  
Sam ditched the pen defiantly and threw his head into Dean’s chest. He glared at Dean from below, annoyed and bitter.  
“Or what?” He snarled.  
“Or. I fuckin’ FORCE-FEED you.” Menaced Dean, showing teeth, the distance between them less then an inch.  
“Oh really?” Sam egged him.  
“Yeah, Yeah, I would. What?” Pitched Dean in a high, teasing tone.  
“No you wouldn’t.” Sam said, squinting, rude and smug.  
“Is that a DARE, Sammy?” Dean slanted his eyes and bit his lower lip, and closed the distance - their noses touching at their tips.  
“Well, it ain’t no fuckin’ TRUTH.” Retorted Sam, although much less bitchy now. Tired was more like it, and somewhat amused, too. Not that he would ever admit that fact to a soul.  
“Fine!” Barked Dean.  
“FINE!” Barked Sam right back at him.  
“Fine! Wait, What.” Dean startled, and his face gave out his inner confusion to the world to see. _Damn._  
Sam laughed, and stuck his tongue at his big brother, the lack of private space catapulting the gesture into a whole different category of affectionate situations. Which wasn’t much of a big news, but could redirect any situation into absolutely different, non-related to the subject territory. _Brat._  
“Don’t you mock my resolve you little shit,” frowned Dean, releasing his death-grip on the chair, dropping Sam back to even ground abruptly in a fumble of limbs and shaggy hair, “I will if I need to”, he added.   
Sam sighed. “Dean I have a test tomorrow, it’s very - what, WHAT- are you _doing_..?” Sam wailed and stared, as Dean sat on the side of the table, took out a pocket knife, sprung it open and began cutting the sandwich into little, equal squares. Sam inhaled sharply, filled his cheeks with air and placed his focus back on his study. He would never admit it, but all he saw were blank sheets of paper. His frustration rose by a notch.  
“Dean. Please. You are distracting me.“ Sam whispered, exhaling, hiding behind his bangs.   
_Yeah, I know._ “Sam.”  
Sam silenced, ignoring his big brother.  
”…Sam.” Dean sighed.  
He shuffled closer, almost sitting on Sam’s notes. Sam’s precious, meticulous notes. Now seemingly blank. Washed off.  
“Dean. Move. I’ll. Fuckin’ hurt you.” Sam’s voice was too tired to actually sound threatening.   
“Oh really. With what? Your bitchface?” Dean taunted, still cutting, accurate, precise cuts, his entire attention given to the plate and the unfortunate excuse for a snack getting dissected on it.  
Sam lifted his head at that and glared. “Dean, leave. Me. Alone. Please.”  
Dean focused on Sam’s pleading, stubborn, tired eyes.  _Stubborn ass._  
He was silent for a moment, flicking his pocket knife open and shut and then open again. Then, he bit the inside of his cheek and turned to look at Sam with a decision.  
“One bite. Nothing more. One now, one an hour later. How about that? Hmm? And then when you finish it all, this and the study, we can, uhh, watch the history channel or somethin’. How ‘bout that?” Dean suggested, all rational and serious, yet soft-spoken and gentle.  
There was a mutual silence.  
Sam knew Dean won this one.  
Trying to maintain the last shred of dignity he still possessed, Sam shifted and crossed his arms over his chest. He leaned back and tilted his head, presenting the rudest body language he could muster and smiled the evilest smile he could manage.  
“…What, you ran out of porn…?” He mocked.  
“Dude! I recycle!” Dean seemed offended, a slight crease forming between his eyebrows. “Porn’s cool too though, if - “  
“GODDAMMIT DEAN NO, not what I meant!” Sam cut him in the middle, waving a hand and finally loosening, a little laugh on his lips. “Fine. Give me that. What is it anyway.” He waved at the plate.  
“Ham.” Dean answered, his tone a bit too cheery. He propped the chosen first square in front of Sam’s mouth, and, smiling his angled smile, commanded:  
  
“Eat.”


End file.
